


Hello, Neighbor

by niesbixby



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bucky is a jerk, LOUD music, M/M, Neighbors, and Steve really just wants to sleep, just a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 04:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2534384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niesbixby/pseuds/niesbixby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So the Nirvana was getting kind of old.</p><p>In which Steve and Bucky are neighbors, and Bucky won't stop playing loud music at night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello, Neighbor

So the Nirvana was getting kind of old.

It hadn't been that bad, the first night. Steve had simply put in his earplugs and waited. It wasn't completely unheard of for the neighbors to get a little wild at night. The second night was decidedly more difficult. The guy in the apartment above had turned it up and started singing along. Not that the guy wasn't a good singer. But seriously. It was 3 in the morning. By the third night, he'd had enough. This was starting to affect his art.

So he'd painted Go to Fucking Sleep, Cobain, on the guy's door in brightest red paint he could find. Vermilion, to be exact. Feeling quite satisfied with himself, he climbed back into bed and went to sleep.

Around 10, he decided to check and see how his message had been received. He climbed the stairs and poked his head through the door. The door to the room had been neatly painted over, obscuring his message completely, and a sheet of printer paper was taped to it.

What the actual hell, Steve thought. He looked around, checking for witnesses, then snuck across the hall to read the note.

Dear Painter Guy,

I am a veteran of the US Army. I killed people. I can kill you in 350 ways using only my bare hands. Are you absolutely sure you want to pursue this?

And by the way, what do you have against Nirvana?

Cordially,

And then underneath that was a scribbled signature Steve couldn't even read. But he pulled a pen out of his pocket and started writing under the typed note.

Dear GI Joe,

Damn right I want to pursue this. I actually need to sleep, unlike some people in this building. And you'd have to figure out who I am before you could bump me off. No, I don't have a problem with Nirvana. Only when it's played at Oh-dark-thirty. I haven't slept in three days, man. It's not doing great things for my personality. So can you please not play music so loudly at night?

Yours in insomnia,

Painter Guy

He left, feeling rather pleased about the note. Steve spent the rest of the day painting, then watched some House of Cards on Netflix. He went to bed around 9, fully expecting to get a good night's sleep.

So it was quite a surprise when the Coldplay started up. If anything, it was even louder than the previous nights. What the hell, Steve thought. The next morning he walked up to the guy's door, pen and paper clutched in his hands. He pinned the paper to the door and started writing.

GI Joe,

What the hell, dude? I thought we had an agreement. So why the death metal? Sleep is good. Sleep is great, and I'd really appreciate it if I could get some for once in my life. I swear to god, if you do this one more time, I'm calling the cops on you. I have rights.

Later that afternoon:

Painter Guy,

Okay, so maybe the death metal was a little over the top. But you really need to chill out, seriously. Have you considered getting laid?

But I don't think you appreciate my situation. I'm a street busker. I play on the subways all day and I have to practice sometime, don't I?

GI Joe

P.S. Coldplay isn't death metal, you uncultured swine.

That night: Haydn's Surprise Symphony, followed by In the Hall of the Mountain King from Peer Gynt Suite.

Steve was just about ready to throttle the guy.

GI Joe,

You think you're so clever, don't you, with your classical music? I nearly broke my bedside lamp when I fell out of bed of a heart attack, asshole. Also, don't you get enough practice playing in the subways? Why do you need to play at night?

 

Painter Guy,

Okay, I'll bite. I need to practice at night because that's when I learn new songs. Otherwise I'd be playing the same thing all day and that wouldn't be very entertaining, now would it?

Also, if it bothers you so god awful much, why don't you just buy some damn earplugs?

That night: Jazz, played on a very high quality clarinet. So that's what the guy plays, Steve thinks, before shoving the pillow over his head. Around two that morning, the music changed to soft rock, accompanied by overly enthusiastic singing. Not that the singing is bad, but really?

GI Joe,

Thank you so much for the lovely concert again last night. I found it most effective in keeping me awake all night. If you're going to continue, may I suggest some relaxation music like, I don't know, Enya? Something quiet?

 

Painter Guy,

Oh, so now we're getting passive aggressive, are we? I thought that it would take longer. You continue to surprise me, unknown painter from the next floor down.

Steve takes to painting at night and sleeping during the day, just to get enough energy to paint. And whoever owns the apartment above just keeps playing.

It comes to a head unexpectedly. Steve finishes a painting early one morning and heads out to get groceries. He's pretty sure the musician is out, as the building is quiet. He's walking down the street when he hears a familiar fragment of a melody and freezes. The guy above has been playing that song for nights on end, driving Steve nuts. He looks around for the source and spots it. 

Across the street, there is a busker playing the clarinet. He sits on a foldout chair and has a fedora sitting in front of him, half filled with bills and change.

Steve dashes across the street, not caring that he almost gets killed by an angry cab driver. He skids to a stop in front of the busker, saying, "GI Joe?"

The guy looks up, still playing the clarinet. His eyes widen and he takes the reed out of his mouth. "Painter Guy?"

He's really attractive, Steve thinks randomly. And it's true. GI Joe is muscular, with choppy brown hair and bright blue eyes. His chin is stubbly and his pupils are blown wide, maybe from shock. He grabs his hat and pours the money into a shopping bag and starts packing up his clarinet. He's got it closed up when Steve grabs the case.

"Hey," the guy protests. "Give me my clarinet."

"What the actual hell?" Steve demands. "My entire sleep schedule has been royally screwed for weeks now and I've not seen daylight for a week and a half."

"Okay, first you need to calm down and tell me your name. I'm Bucky," he says, extending a hand.

Steve takes it warily. "Steve," he replies. "I'd say it's nice to meet you but I'd be lying," he says flatly.

Bucky retracts his hand and fiddles with his fingerless gloves. "So, Steve. What am I going to have to do to get my clarinet back?" He makes a halfhearted grab for the case, and Steve snatches it back. Bucky only succeeds in knocking into Steve.

"Well, you could start with not playing at night. When do you sleep anyway?"

Bucky shrugs. "Twenty minute nap every four hours. Works like a charm." He pauses. "Not gonna change my schedule, so don't ask."

Steve hefts the clarinet over his head, holding it by one hand. "Then you won't get this back. My arm's getting pretty tired. I might just drop it."

Bucky's eyes harden and he holds up Steve's wallet. "Drop it and you'll never get this back," he says calmly.

"How did you-" Steve says, then reaches into his pocket. "Oh. That's great, you're a petty thief as well."

He shrugs. "Hey, whatever gets the job done, right? Now, I"ll give you this and you give me my stuff and we'll call it even, got it?"

Steve raises an eyebrow. "And you'll just go back to your racket?"

"I'll tone it down on one condition."

"And what's that?"

Bucky puts on his fedora, tilting it at a rakish angle. "You let me take you on a date."

Steve makes a rather confused face. "Okay, why?"

"Because I'd like a date." Steve nods and holds out the clarinet case. Bucky takes it and tosses Steve his wallet, saying, "Details'll be on your door," before walking off down the street.

How odd.

**Author's Note:**

> Now I can go on with my life.


End file.
